The festival crowds swallowed them like the ocean swallowed drowning men.
TF pushed through celebrating citizens, keeping his head down, dust from the explosion still coating his clothes. Around them, drums pounded. Fire-breathers performed. Nobody noticed four more dusty workers in a city full of preparation chaos.
Until the alarm klaxons reached street level.
The sound cut through festival noise like a blade. Harsh, mechanical, unmistakable. Archive breach. Intruders. Lockdown imminent.
The crowd's mood shifted instantly. Celebration became confusion. Confusion would become panic soon.
"We need off the streets," Samira said urgently. "Lockdown protocols mean checkpoints, identity verification, systematic searches."
"Seraphine's safehouse," TF said. "Two districts over. Can we make it?"
"If we move fast and look like we belong." Samira adjusted her coat, hiding weapons. "Follow my lead. Act concerned but not panicked. Festival workers worried about the alarm."
They moved with purpose through shifting crowds. Soldiers began appearing—Trifarian Legion, responding to the alert, establishing perimeter positions. TF felt the Chronolith pulse against his chest, warm and insistent, like it was trying to communicate something.
Not now, he thought at it. Later. When we're not actively dying.
They passed a checkpoint forming at an intersection. Soldiers questioning people, checking papers. Samira veered them down a side street before they were spotted.
"That's the third checkpoint," Graves muttered. "They're closing the net."
"Then we move faster." Ekko's Z-Drive sparked, damaged from the blast. "My rewind's offline. If we get caught, no do-overs."
"Don't get caught," TF said simply.
They navigated through side streets and alleys, following Samira's knowledge of Noxian geography. Twice they hid while patrols passed. Once they bluffed through a curious merchant asking what happened. TF spun a story about supply tunnel collapse—close enough to truth—and kept moving.
Twenty minutes of careful navigation brought them to Seraphine's safehouse. Upscale district, the kind of place a visiting performer would rent. Legitimate. No obvious connection to thieves.
Samira knocked—pattern they'd agreed on. Three short, two long, pause, one short.
The door opened. Seraphine stood there, still in her performance attire, relief flooding her features.
"Thank the stars. I heard the alarms—" She saw their condition. Dust, blood, exhaustion. "Come in. Quickly."
They piled inside. Seraphine locked the door, activated wards she'd purchased for privacy. The space was comfortable—sitting room, small kitchen, two bedrooms. Windows overlooked the street, currently filling with concerned citizens and patrolling soldiers.
"Tell me you got it," Seraphine said.
TF pulled the Chronolith from his coat.
The artifact seemed to brighten in the open air. Temporal energy radiated from it, visible as shimmer-distortions around its crystalline surface. The room's temperature dropped slightly, pressure changed. Time itself bent around the Shard.
Everyone stared.
"So that's it," Seraphine whispered. "The thing that changes the past."
"Supposedly," Graves said. He'd moved to the window, watching the street. "Right now it's just a glowing rock that every soldier in Noxus wants to find."
"We need to leave the city," Samira said. "Tonight. The longer we stay, the smaller our chance of escape."
"Agreed." TF set the Chronolith on the table. It sat there, humming, impossible to ignore. "But we need a plan. Docks will be locked down. So will the main gates. They'll search every merchant caravan, every ship, every transport."
"We don't use legitimate routes," Ekko said. He'd pulled his Z-Drive off, was examining damage. "Zaun has smuggling tunnels that connect to Noxian territory. Get to the eastern slums, find the right contacts, we can be out by dawn."
"That's a twelve-hour trek through hostile territory," Samira countered. "With checkpoints, patrols, and possibly Darius personally hunting us."
"You got a better idea?"
"Yes. We steal a military transport. Use Trifarian credentials I still have access to. Claim we're moving sensitive cargo to a secure location."
"That's insane," Graves said. "The moment they verify credentials—"
"They won't have time to verify. We move during shift change, when communication is chaotic. By the time someone questions it, we're outside the city." Samira's tactical mind was working. "It's bold. But bold works in Noxus. Hesitation gets you killed. Authority gets you through."
TF considered both options. Smuggling routes were safer but slower. Military transport was faster but riskier. Both could fail catastrophically.
"We vote," he decided. "Everyone gets input. This crew made it this far together."
"I vote smuggling tunnels," Ekko said immediately. "Safer. I know Zaun contacts who connect east."
"I vote military transport," Samira said. "Speed matters. The longer we're in Noxus, the higher the chance someone smart—like Vasara—figures out who we are."
They looked at Graves.
He shrugged. "I'm good either way. Both plans involve possible violence. I like violence."
"Helpful," TF muttered. He looked at Seraphine. "Your vote?"
She'd been staring at the Chronolith. Now she looked up, something haunted in her expression. "Can I... can I touch it? Before we decide?"
"Why?" Samira asked.
"I need to know if it's real. If this—everything we just risked—if it actually works." Seraphine moved closer to the table. "My empathic abilities let me sense emotions from objects sometimes. Strong emotions leave imprints. I want to feel what the Chronolith feels."
"It's not a person," Graves said.
"Isn't it?" Seraphine reached toward the artifact, hand hovering. "TF said it showed him visions. That it's conscious. What if it has feelings too?"
TF wanted to say no. Wanted to keep the Chronolith away from everyone until they'd figured out who got to use it. But Seraphine's reasoning made sense. And part of him was curious what her abilities would sense.
"Go ahead," he said. "But carefully. The thing's powerful."
Seraphine touched the Chronolith.
Her eyes went wide. Unfocused. Body went rigid.
"Seraphine?" Ekko moved toward her.
"Wait," TF said. "Give her a moment."
Seraphine's breathing quickened. Tears started down her cheeks. Not pain tears. Something else. Grief and longing and desperate hope all mixed together.
Then she gasped and pulled back, hand snapping away from the artifact.
"It's real," she whispered. "It's real and it's... it's everything. Every regret anyone's ever had. The Chronolith absorbs them. Holds them. It knows what we want to change because it feels our pain."
"What did you see?" TF asked gently.
"My parents. The night they died." Her voice broke. "I saw the concert I chose over visiting them. Saw myself on stage while they—" She stopped. Steadied herself. "And I saw what would happen if I changed it. If I canceled the concert and went to them instead."
"What would happen?"
"They'd still die. Different timing, same chem-spill, same result. But I'd die with them. The Chronolith showed me that choosing them means losing everything I became after. The music, the platform, the ability to help thousands of people in Zaun through my foundation." Seraphine looked at the artifact with something like awe and horror. "It doesn't just change the past. It shows you the cost. Every consequence. Every life altered by your choice."
Silence filled the room.
TF felt the weight of that knowledge settle. The Chronolith wasn't a simple fix. It was a mirror showing you whether your biggest mistake was actually a mistake at all.
"I vote smuggling tunnels," Seraphine said quietly. "Slower is safer. And we need time to think about what we're really going to do with this."
"That's two for tunnels, one for military," TF said. He looked at Graves again. "You're the tiebreaker."
Graves had been watching Seraphine's reaction. Now he looked at TF, something knowing in his expression. "You want me to vote for tunnels. Slow escape, time to process, put off the hard conversation about who uses the Chronolith."
"I want you to vote honestly."
"Honest? Honest is I don't trust any of you." Graves's hand rested on Destiny. "Soon as we're out of Noxus, that Chronolith becomes the most dangerous thing in this crew. Everyone wants it. Everyone's got reasons. Someone's gonna betray someone. Probably you, TF. That's what you do."
The accusation hung in the air.
"You're right," TF said. "I am that person. The one who runs when things get hard. The one who puts himself first." He met Graves's eyes. "But I'm trying not to be. This job—this crew—it's different. I'm different."
"Prove it. Vote yourself. Break the tie."
TF looked at each of them. Ekko, young and brilliant, trusting despite everything. Samira, controlled and lethal, carrying guilt she'd never processed. Seraphine, empathic and exhausted, feeling everyone's pain on top of her own. Graves, angry and wounded, wanting to believe but scared to try.
And himself. The con artist with a debt. The coward who ran. The man trying to become someone better.
"Smuggling tunnels," TF decided. "Seraphine's right. We need time to think. And we made it this far by working together. Let's not rush the last part."
"Smuggling tunnels it is," Graves said. Not quite approval, but acceptance.
"Then we rest for two hours," Samira said, back to tactical planning. "Leave at midnight. Streets will be quieter, patrols more predictable. Ekko, can you fix your Z-Drive?"
"Partially. Won't get full rewinds, but I can manage three-second bursts. Better than nothing." He was already working, tools out, focused.
"Good. Graves, inventory remaining explosives. We might need distractions." Samira looked at Seraphine. "You should change clothes. Something that doesn't scream 'famous performer.'"
They dispersed to prepare. TF stayed at the table with the Chronolith, studying it, thinking about everything Seraphine had said.
It shows you the cost. Every consequence.
What would it show him? What would he lose if he undid his betrayal of Graves? Would they still be partners, or would something else have broken them? Would he still have learned the lessons that made him better? Would he still care about becoming trustworthy?
"You're thinking too hard," Graves said from across the room.
"Occupational hazard."
"You really changed? Or is this another con?"
TF didn't answer immediately. Watched the Chronolith shimmer, temporal energy cycling through patterns that almost made sense.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Ask me after we decide who uses this thing. Then we'll both know for sure."
Graves grunted. Went back to checking weapons.
Outside, Noxus continued searching for the thieves who'd stolen from its most secure vault. Soldiers moved through streets. Darius was out there somewhere, hunting with systematic precision. Vasara was probably coordinating, her sharp mind piecing together clues.
And here, in a rented safehouse, five criminals sat with an artifact that could rewrite their lives.
Two hours until they moved. Twelve hours until they escaped the city. After that—
After that, the real test began.
The Chronolith hummed on the table, patient and eternal, waiting to see who would claim it. Who would prove desperate enough to face their past and all its consequences.
TF pulled a card without looking. Glanced down.
Justice. Balance. Consequences paid.
He shuffled it back into the deck and tried to rest.
Outside, drums pounded festival rhythm. Celebration and threat, all mixed together.
Inside, five people prepared for the hardest part of the heist.
Getting out alive. And staying honest when the exit door appeared.